


When I'm Small

by tinyspacekid



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Caulscott - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyspacekid/pseuds/tinyspacekid
Summary: Barely even a week after Max Caulfield's first day at Blackwell Academy, Dana Ward has dragged her -- internally kicking and screaming -- to a Vortex Club party. Having no desire to be there, Max is looking for any way out, she just never thought it would come in the form of Blackwell's intimidating king, Nathan Prescott.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic is based off of a Phantogram song called "When I'm Small", which is also mentioned briefly in the fic.  
> 

She knew it was a bad idea.

The Vortex Club was nothing but trouble, and it didn't take an outsider to see that. Every member of it's elite "VIP" _(barf)_ was a whiny, spoiled brat living off of daddy's paycheck and mommy's "money is love" attitude. Especially it's King, Nathan Prescott.

He was more myth than man to her. Her first day at Blackwell she had seen him for but a millisecond; slouched posture and fiery red jacket, like a warning: stay away or face the consequences. And then he was gone, she never even caught his face, just a back that had plagued her thoughts from then on after.

There were two sides to Prescott, and which one you got really depended on who you talked to. Talk to someone in the Vortex Club and you'd get the same answer, only worded a little differently each time. Nathan was odd, a little creepy, but he was fun to be around, for all the wrong reasons. He had the typical "bad boy" backstory: shit parents and crippling depression, mixed in a cocktail of drug abuse and alcohol problems.

Talk to somebody outside of the club and the story got a little different, and those were the stories she chose to believe.

Nathan was, for lack of a better word, fucking insane. He could snap in an instant, and when he did, you better get the hell out of dodge.

_Stay away or face the consequences._

People always said his blue eyes seemed glazed over, like he was somewhere else entirely, or just doped up on God knows what. She had about a million reasons to avoid him, and the more she heard, the less she liked. Max was at Blackwell for Mark Jefferson and for the school itself, not for some dumb kids with a dumb club.

_So why was she standing just outside it's door?_

She blamed Dana Ward, the pretty cheerleader who, despite what stereotypes would dictate, had the heart of an angel and a greater capacity for kindness than any other person she had met (save for Kate Marsh). It was her pretty puppy eyes that brought her there, and now, she was looking for a reason -- any, really -- to leave. And she hadn't even gotten inside yet.

"Excited?" Feminine hands latched onto her arm and a head of brown hair came into view. _Dana Ward._

"Uh," Max began, unsure of what to say. She didn't want to offend her recently-acquired friend, but she didn't want to lie, either. "Not really." She breathed the words with a shy giggle, almost backing into herself as she offered up a weak smile.

"You'll love it, I promise," Dana mused, though Max doubted it. "Besides, we'll be in the VIP section where all the good stuff happens."

"Good stuff?" Max quoted. Now, that just made her nervous. What, exactly, did the Vortex Club consider _'good stuff'_?

She couldn't help it as an image of a drug induced orgy surfaced in her mind, Nathan Prescott's back buried somewhere in the mess. _No, thank you._

Dana gave a chuckle, handing her bag over to the young girl at the entrance. "Oh, please, Max. It's not like we're all gonna get high and fuck each other. I have more class than that."

Max laughed, though awkwardly, choosing to keep her camera bag on her instead of checking it in. Who knows, she might see something worth taking a picture of.

"You do, Dana, but what about the rest of the club?" Max said as she pushed through the curtain, leading to the chlorine-soaked pool. The scent hit her like a truck and, had it not been for her well-trained gag reflex, she would've thrown up on the spot. She could almost hear her sandwich's threats to join the dance floor.

Dana laughed again, but this time it was a little forced. Max was probably annoying her, probably bringing down the fun. She really should be more grateful, Max thought. It's not everyday the new kid gets welcomed into the school's hottest club, Dana was being far too nice to her.

"Maybe not Nathan," Dana replied, a hint of teasing to her tone. "But I doubt he'll come onto you, you don't really seem like his type."

What was Nathan Prescott's type? Probably beautiful and blonde, with model like qualities and a nasty personality. Probably like Victoria.

Max sighed and looked around. Someone had installed a strobe light, and the room seemed to be moving in some sort of horror movie slow motion. Lights casting vortex symbols -- custom made, likely paid for by Sean Prescott, himself -- appeared when the darkness subsided and the flashing stopped, the room lighting up in neon purples and pinks. Clearly, there was some sort of retro 80s theme going on, at least as far as decor went.

A pink sign caught her attention, flickering against the cool white brick of the pool room. It read "THE VORTEX CLUB" in angled, futuristic letters. Beside it, someone had scrawled "SUCKS" in contrasting handwriting.

A grin spread across Max's freckled face, her hand quickly diving into her bag. Out came the pale-yellow Polaroid camera, and she quickly snapped a shot, waving it in the air.

"See?" Dana said. "It's not so bad. Maybe you could start a still life series on the assholes of Blackwell."

Max laughed, "I don't think anyone would want to start that series."

Dana then grabbed her hand, directing her towards a long table that sat before a closed off corner of the room, blotted out by long, black curtains. At the table, there was a small jar of purple and pink glow sticks, resting beside a small spreading of flyers for the party. Sitting in the cornered space, a young woman with short black hair and a face that said she was having way too much fun telling people they weren't allowed in the party did exactly that, telling off a brawny young man for not getting in on the guest list when he had the chance.

_Courtney._

She didn't know the girl directly, but she had seen her in Victoria's little bitch squad, feting over the woman as she told them what to do and yelled at them when they didn't meet her standards. How masochistic do you have to be stay in a friendship like that, Max wondered. A person could probably do an entire Stockholm syndrome study on Victoria's friends.

It hadn't even occurred to Max that Victoria was probably going to be in that VIP room and, as the realization hit her, she felt it's icy saliva drip down her back. Nope, she definitely had to leave now. Max's pale eyes locked on the curtain. That small gesture seemed to be enough to amplify the sounds coming from inside, and she could've sworn she heard the sinister gait of Victoria's laugh. Or maybe she was imagining it. Either way, she was out of there.

"Uh, Dana," Max began, her voice a struggling, shaky mess. She was never a very good liar, but she had to leave. Victoria treated her like shit, and Max had no doubts that she would treat her even worse upon realizing Dana had invited her in. Actually, she could start treating Dana like shit, too.

"I, uh, I have to go." She said, telling herself this was for Dana's safety and not her own. She wasn't that selfish, right?

"Why? We aren't even in yet!" Dana looked disappointed, though Max hoped she'd understand.

"Well, uh, Victoria's probably in there and, uh, I have..." She froze. What did she have, other than anxiety and a great disappointment streak? Then it came to her.

"Homework!" She yelled over the blaring music, her voice as shaky as her acting. "Yeah, there's this huge paper Ms. Hoida wants me to do and--"

_"Ladies!"_

A voice and the sudden sensation of arms, heavy and masculine, draped over her shoulders, shocking Max right out of her wits. But, clearly, Dana was unaffected. Hell, she even looked _excited._

"Logan!" She exclaimed, turning around and placing an affectionate kiss on the man's cheek. Now Max _really_ wanted to vomit.

Logan Robertson was a jock, and the worst kind. He reeked of testosterone, sexism, and steroids, wearing his bigotry like a cologne. She wondered how someone as beautiful and sweet like Dana ended up with an asshole like him. Maybe it was just because she was a cheerleader and she felt like she had to date a jock.

_Too bad it wasn't Max's place to tell her she deserved better._

Like a frightened cat, Max wriggled free of Logan's grip, her eyes falling upon the doting couple. Dana looked so happy, Logan couldn't possibly be that bad, not if he lit up her face like that. That, or Dana was already drunk, and monkey-men were strangely appealing when intoxicated.

Though she was out of Logan's burly arm length, it was no use, because as soon as she was free, his hand met her back, slapping it hard and shoving her forward, his dude-bro voice gruffly exclaiming, "Let's get this party started!"

And like that, she was thrust into the black curtains and to the other side. The music was louder, practically to the point of a deafening boom, as that corner of the room was nestled right against the DJ's station (Max vaguely recognized him from some iTunes ad, he was no doubt the most expensive thing in the room, just above whatever designer ensemble Victoria would be wearing). He was playing some Phantogram song, low-fi and booming with an addictive riff. She never actually thought she'd hear something objectively good at a Vortex Club party. Actually, she was half-expecting to walk in there and hear nothing but poorly done dubstep remixes.

As her eyes scanned the room for Victoria, she found the inside to look just as she expected. It had that mock-elite club atmosphere she was ready for. Every one in there thought they were hot shit, the best hot shit out there, and that the reason they were hot shit was because they got into the VIP section of the Vortex Club. It was hilarious, really. The best thing she could compare it to was when little kids made treehouse clubs and thought they were too cool for the other snot-nose brats running around.

She wasn't surprised when she spotted an underage bartender shaking up cocktails at a fold out table, using skills he probably learned off of YouTube and practiced the night before. Her suspicions were confirmed when he nearly dropped his shaker, sloshing some of it's contents onto a young man leaning on the table, holding a red solo cup in his hand. Angered, the young man let out a yelp, stepping back a little too late. The inexperienced bartender winced, and so did Max, as the man practically exploded.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?!" He just about screamed, looking his front up and down. "My _dad_ is not paying you to ruin my _goddamn_ clothes, dumbass!"

The bartender was apologizing profusely, dabbing at the man with napkins, only for his efforts to be brutally battered away.

And that's when she recognized him. The red jacket, the dirty blond hair, the slouch.

Nathan. _Fucking_. Prescott.

For whatever reason, she had expected him to be in a throne. He _was_ called the King of Blackwell, after all, maybe she just figured he'd embrace the title more. Or maybe Warren had just forced her through too many episodes of _True Blood._

As he turned, she caught sight of his livid blue eyes, seemingly flashing with intensity as the lights from the other side of the room caught in them, reflecting in a million different ways. They didn't seem glazed over, actually, the outburst seemed to practically bring him to life, his cheeks hot and his brows furrowed to the point of sharp wrinkles.

_He was fucking pissed._

His eyes met hers. Shit, had she been staring? _Shit,_ she still was. Before she even knew what was happening, he was marching towards her, a dark brown stain present on his previously immaculate sweater.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

Every bone in her body said move, but her muscles seemed frozen under his gaze. She felt... naked. He was practically in her face now, looming over her like a statue to a bug. He was shorter than she expected, thinner, too, but that didn't make his presence any less intimidating.

"The fuck are you staring at, bitch?" He spat. "Get out of my fucking way."

Max's brows tightened. She didn't care how rich the kid was, nobody talked to her like that, and like hell was she going to just move because he told her to. He didn't own her.

"You could say _please,_ Prescott," She said, her arms crossing her chest. She knew she was dipping her feet into shark infested waters, but the little shit could at least have some goddamn manners.

"And you could get out of my fucking way," He retorted, his voice hiking a half-octave, sounding more deranged than excited. God, he really was crazy.

"Move, bitch."

She adjusted her weight, still staring him down, what little hip she had to the side. She wasn't moving, no she wasn't going to budge a goddamn inch.

He rolled his eyes, a gruff scoff escaping his lips. She could've sworn she saw him smirk, maybe even laugh, like he was... impressed? But she quickly threw the thought away. With one hand, he shoved past her, careful not to knock her over but forceful enough to show he had strength and knew how to use it. He might have been impressed by her defiance, but she certainly wasn't impressed by him.

"Asshole," She mumbled, watching him disappear to the men's room, her arms unfolding and itching to punch something. Or someone, namely Nathan _Fucking_ Prescott. Max was glad Victoria wasn't around, she would've only made the situation worse. She couldn't be sure if the two knew each other, (she didn't have a single class with Nathan that he actually showed up for, and she spent far too much of her time desperately avoiding Victoria to really pay attention to who she hung around with outside of Courtney and Taylor) but she didn't want to find out.

Not that it would surprise her. Every dickbag king has to have someone by his side, after all.

Max felt a hand on her arm, "So, I see you've met Nathan."

Her head craned around to see Dana, hair now down and looking a little winded from dancing. She wondered where Logan was, but quickly realized she didn't care.

"Yeah," Max began, allowing Dana to take in her disgruntled expression. "He's a real _blast._ "

"I never said I liked him," Dana defended, though she didn't need to. Max couldn't really see how anybody liked him. "But he has been acting super on edge lately, or at least, ever since..." Dana trailed off.

"Rachel Amber?" The name seemed like a curse she couldn't quite escape, but that she couldn't talk about either. Her voice reduced to a whisper as the missing girl appeared on her lips and vanished again. Everybody at Blackwell seemed to have known her, or at least, known _of_ her. She doubted Nathan was excluded from that group.

"Yeah," Dana confirmed. "He kinda, well... it doesn't matter. What happened?"

Max wanted to ask what didn't matter, the nagging snoop inside of her whining to know, but she shut herself down. Maybe Dana was just keeping her mouth shut around Nathan's cronies. But why? The thought honestly scared her.

Max quickly explained what happened, and watched in surprise as Dana seemed completely unfazed.

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Was all she said. "Just, if he comes back... stay away from him, alright? If you don't bug him, he shouldn't bug you. But if he does, tell me and I'll kick his ass."

A chuckle bubbled in Max's chest. She'd honestly love to see that. "Alright."

She didn't like the idea of running to 'Mommy Dana' when the bully was picking on her, but it was a comforting thought knowing _someone_ in the Vortex Club actually had her back.

"I'm gonna go find Logan, if you need anything, just holler. And don't talk to strangers!" She teased as she walked away, a pretty smile present on her equally pretty face.

"Okay, Mom," Max joked, watching with a smile as her friend trotted off. She could leave now, sneak off into the darkness and blend with the crowd until she was out, away from wherever Victoria was hiding and far, far from Nathan Prescott and his explosive temper. But that would be wrong, and would no doubt hurt Dana's feelings. She couldn't do that, not to one of her only friends at Blackwell. She had already burned enough bridges, as it was.

Max sighed. She was stuck.

Glancing over at the bartender, she walked his way. He seemed incredibly put off by Nathan's outburst, and rightfully so. His movements were shakier, and he was practically looking the room up and down, as if all eyes were on him, and all of those eyes belonged to Nathan Prescott.

She rested her hand on the table and the action seemed to startle him.

"Oh, sorry!" She said, watching as he clutched onto the shaker for dear life. At least he didn't drop it on her.

"Nah, nah, it's fine," he said, pushing a lock of blonde hair out of his eyes. "Just a little shaky, that's all."

"Nathan was totally out of line," She quickly said, letting him know she was on his side. They may be in disagreement about the whole underage drinking thing, but if there was any common ground between them, it was definitely their dislike of Nathan.

"You're telling me," He laughed. "I probably should've stepped in when he was harping on you like that, sorry."

"It's okay," She smiled. "He wasn't going to do anything, anyway."

He made a face, squished and hesitant. He didn't believe her. "Max, right?"

She nodded.

"Look, Max, you haven't been here as long as me. Nathan, he's a... he's a..."

"Psycho?" A voice, leering on the edge of twisted, chimed from behind.

Max turned to the sound and the bartender practically jumped a good six inches off the ground. _Fuck._

"Speak of the devil," She mumbled as she saw Nathan Prescott -- having abandoned his ruined cream sweater, leaving just the black t-shirt underneath -- walking towards them. He didn't look as mad, the lines on his brow had softened, but she still wasn't ready to behave civilly towards him. Hell, she doubted she ever would be able to.

He reached the "bar", resting an elbow on it as he turned towards Max, his eyes not regarding the bartender at all, but his speech definitely aimed at him. "I've heard it all before, Charlie, fuck off."

Max nearly opened her mouth, hoping to throw out some sort of insult, but Charlie beat her to it. Her presence seemed to have given him confidence, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"Then maybe it's true, asswipe," He spat, putting the shaker down with more force than was probably necessary.

"What did you just say to me?" Now Nathan's eyes were on Charlie, and they had that same flaring lividity from before. Shark infested waters were being treaded, once again, stomach lurching as she thought of poor Charlie's feet.

"I said," Charlie began, white-knuckling the shaker. "Maybe it's true."

"Leave," Nathan droned, his tone having gone from wrathful to downright bored in an instant.

Charlie's brows hit his hairline. "What?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" He said. "Leave."

_KLANG!_

Charlie threw the shaker across the room, missing Max by mere inches. Sorry eyes met hers, but the apology he was trying to communicate didn't quite reach his lips.

"Fuckin' watch it, dickhead," Nathan warned, little embers of his previous anger dancing across his face.

Confusion collided with Max. The shaker barely got close to him.

"You know what, fuck you, man!" Charlie yelled, walking away and throwing his towel to the ground, as well. He turned, walking backwards as he flipped the bird with both hands. "And fuck your stupid club, too!"

With that, the men's room door slammed shut, and Charlie was gone.

Nathan simply snorted. "He thinks he's ballsy."

Oh, no. _No, no, no._ She was _not_ siding with him.

"You're the one who was being a dick to him," Max said, crossing her arms once again. It seemed to become her default offense stance. " _And_ me."

Nathan sighed, his hands rolling over each other anxiously. "Look, he spilled bullshit beer on my favorite sweater and I was pissed. Guy was a shitty bartender, anyway."

Another sigh. "I'm _sorry._ "

The admittance seemed to pain him, but it was genuine. At least, Max felt that it was. Then again, the guy was probably a pathological liar and a sociopath. There was some ulterior motive present, there had to be.

"What do you want, Nathan?" She sighed, her arms still crossed. She glanced towards the floor. Nobody had picked up the shaker.

"Your name would be a good place to start," He said, following her gaze. With a sigh -- he seemed to do that a lot -- he walked away from the table and picked up the thankfully, empty shaker, using the towel to clean up the little droplets of alcohol on the floor, placing it with the tall bottles of who knows what.

"It's Max," She said, though somewhat reluctantly. She knew she ought to stay away from the creep, even Dana warned her, but she wasn't just going to up and walk away. Who knew how pissed that would make him and, at that point, she didn't want to escalate things more. The fight with Charlie had been enough excitement for one night, at least for her.

"Max," He said back to her, walking behind the faux-bar. He carried her name like it was amusing, but his repetition felt more like confirmation than anything else. But why?

"So," He said, that smirk appearing on his face again. She had seen it before, when she refused to move out of his way. But this time, it wasn't a shadow teasing her from the corners of her eye, it was there, as vivid as his eyes, and aimed at her. He leaned forward on the table, "What's a not rich-bitch like you doing in a place like this?"

She almost laughed. Almost.

"How do you know I'm not rich?"

His eyebrow raised. It was a dumb question and she knew it, she just hoped he wouldn't elaborate. Which was exactly why he did.

"Let's see," He began, a mock-thoughtful look on his face. "Those shitty blue jeans are definitely from Walmart, and that jacket? You probably got it off the clearance rack at the fuckin' Gap."

"Fair enough," Her words joined a slight chuckle, her body having given in to his dry sense of humor even though he was basically making fun of her and her attire. "But I like my jeans and jacket."

"Not exactly Vortex Club material," He commented, and that joking tone had faltered, somewhat.

"Neither is a beer stained sweater," She replied, a smirk mirroring his own tugging at her lips. _Two can play that game._

"Meow," He laughed, reaching for a bottle and a cup, pouring himself a generous amount of... whisky? She wasn't sure. Ever since she and Chloe had that wine-tasting fiasco, her mother had been careful to keep all alcohol locked away, even now that she was an adult.

"Want some?" He offered, pushing the cup in her direction. Dana's words seemed to be echoing in her mind, telling her she should just walk away. And then her mother joined the mix, saying things like, "Never take a drink from a stranger, Maxine" and, "Always watch someone when they make your drink, Maxine", folding hands with Dana's warnings and dancing ring-around-the-rosy style in her mind.

She should decline. She barely knew him, he was definitely a stranger and, even though she had seen him make it, she trusted the food there about as much as she trusted her dad with anything breakable.

Alcohol was gross, anyway. That was definitely justification enough.

"Uh, no thanks," Max said pushing it back to him.

Offense crossed his face and that little weasel in Max that wanted to please everyone all the time stabbed her in the side. But why would it have poked her then? She didn't like Nathan, at least, she certainly didn't think she did. He was an ass, and not one she wanted to spend more time around.

"It's not like I drugged it, Maxine, c'mon," He pleaded, the offense on his face mirrored in his voice. But that wasn't what set Max off, it was what he called her.

_She never told him her full name._

"Max, never Maxine," She began, weary. "How do you even know that's my name?"

Her body took a precautionary step back without consulting her first.

"Who the fuck names their daughter just 'Max'?" He quickly defended, his voice doing that thing where it hikes a note, slurring slightly. "Is it not Maxine? I was just assuming, Jesus, don't get your tits in a bunch."

She could've swore she heard him mumble, "Not that you have any," but she let it be.

"I wasn't," She retorted, her brow knitting tight knots on her face. "I was just making sure you weren't some psycho stalker."

Now this made him laugh, but it was only somewhat genuine. It was that forced kind of laugh, the ones that assholes do when they're about to make fun of you for trying to be sassy.

She felt her smirk fall.

"Me? Stalking you?" He repeated, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "You're not even _close_ to my type."

"And what exactly _is_ Nathan Prescott's type?" She asked, her arms crossed over her chest again. They were going to get sore from all this, she was sure of it.

"Not you," He deadpanned, that smirk still present, as vicious as ever. Did he have a nice bone in his body? Probably not, then again, as mean as his tone was, it more felt like... teasing?

Leaning on the table again, he drummed his fingers against the plastic, looking at her with an antsy glint. "Now, you gonna have a fuckin' drink or not?"

"I think I'll pass," She said again, standing up fully. She was done with him, so done with him, in fact, she was pretty sure she had had her fill of Nathan Prescott for the whole school year. She ought to go find Dana and come up with some grandiose reason to get the fuck out.

"Aw, c'mon, Max," He pleaded, reaching for her sleeve.

Warm skin met hers, sending jolts through her arm. He hadn't caught her sleeve, but her wrist. Pale eyes flickering to his, the shock was mirrored between the two of them, and he released as quickly as he realized he was touching her.

Silence pounded in her ears. "I-I should go..."

"Wait!"

She turned, she knew she shouldn't have, but she did. And damn, did she regret it immediately.

"Look," He began, his tone flecked with pleading. "I'll lose my fuckin' mind if I have to hang around these dipshits any longer. Keep me company?"

A rebel grin pulled at her cheeks and she couldn't help as her eyes rolled. She didn't like him. Nope. Not one bit. Assholes _never_ grow on her.

"Only if you stop being an asshole," She joked, and something in her -- something she wanted to beat to death the minute it appeared -- jumped as his smile grew, lighting up the face her mind had been trained to see as nothing but malicious.

He was  _not_ growing on her.

"No promises."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first ever LIS fic and my first multi-chapter fic on here, but I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please leave some kudos or a comment, and make sure to bookmark so you know when the next chapter is up!  
> Thanks again for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so so much to everyone who left kudos and commented! You guys are honestly the best and I'm so glad this fic was met with such pleasant reception. I hope you love this chapter just as much as you loved the first!

The first and last time Max had a drink, she was thirteen years old and sitting in her best friend's living room, staring at an intimidating bottle of red wine with another one of those French names that only ever tied her tongue in vicious knots.

"Are you _sure_ we should be doing this?"

Mischievous blue eyes met hers, glimmering with excitement. "Fuck yes, I'm sure! What are you so afraid of?"

"Getting in trouble!" Max whisper-yelled. There was no one around, but her voice seemed to quiet itself, as if she was afraid even the slightest hike in tone would alert Joyce all the way at Two Whales, her heeled feet busting down the front door any minute. "What if your mom comes home?"

"Seriously, Max?" Chloe laughed, a disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "She's not going to be home for like, the next _four hours,_ I think we'll be fine."

And with that, Chloe popped the cork off the bottle of wine, her eyes watching it like a hawk. Her hands reached for one of the two wine glasses she had grabbed a few minutes before and, cautiously, she poured Max a glass.

Max eyed it as it sat in her hands, an apprehensive sigh escaping her lungs. This was going to end poorly and she knew it.

She took a sip as Chloe watched her, the latter's lips practically twitching with glee.

"So?" She started. "How is it?"

Max made a face. It tasted like what she imagined her mother's floor polish would. "Honestly? _Gross._ "

Chloe's face screwed, disbelief running amok in her eyes. "What? You're bullshitting me!"

Eager, too much so, the girl's hand shot across the coffee table, reaching for her own glass. But her aim was off and, instead, the wine bottle quickly met her arm.

Max watched, practically in slow motion, as Chloe dived for the bottle, her face extending in terror as a purple-red stream hit the blue carpet.

They thought they were being rebellious then, sneaking behind Joyce's back for a sip of wine. But, as Max watched Nathan expertly mix drink after drink, downing them like what he was doing couldn't possibly put him in jail (or on his death bed), she realized something.

_She didn't know shit about rebellion._

When he first started with the red solo-cup of God knows what, chugging it down in mere minutes, she wondered why he did it. Why he drank like he might die the very next day, or even that night. Why he did things with such reckless abandon.

Several harsh drinks and three mischievous stories later, she finally knew why.

He didn't give a shit, and that was the most rebellious thing of all.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder, shaking her from her thoughts. Expensive cologne filled her nostrils and it didn't take her long to figure out who it was.

"Enjoying yourself yet, _Maxine?_ ”

She turned, her eyes meeting Nathan Prescott's. He had this weird habit of getting in people's faces, and it had only seemed to get worse as the hours went on. Maybe he was getting a little _too_ familiar with her.

That, or he was drunk.

The tips of her fingers, cold from the Autumn air, itched to shove him away, but there was something else there, something that enjoyed his closeness, and she was about ready to shove it down a hole and say goodbye.

“Guess I'll be taking that as a 'no',” He said, his grip on her loosening only slightly. He was warm, unusually so, and the objections her skin made when he lightened up were far from welcome. She hadn't even realized that, in the time she was busy spacing out, she had relaxed into him.

_Was he drunk or was she?_

"No," She began, her voice a little hoarse. "I mean, yeah, I was, I just..." Heat met her cheeks as she glanced back up at him, catching a look in his eyes she couldn't quite grasp.

"We _could_ get out of here, if you know what I mean," He said, his tone low and a little too close for her liking, brushing her ears with every gentle syllable. She could've swore she saw his eyebrows waggle.

Baffled, words seemed to escape her. Was he hitting on her? Did he seriously just suggest they _leave_ to go _fuck_ somewhere?

Dana's voice nagged at her mental ears, telling her he wouldn't come onto her, that she should know he was probably just joking, however, that orgy from before blocked out everything else.

Except it wasn't the orgy anymore.

There was no pool room, no other people, just the two of them in _her dorm room,_ a vibrant jacket on the floor.

_No, no, no, no, NO._

And then his laughter, loud and genuine, hit her ears. She hadn't even realized she was making a face until she felt it unhinge itself, her muscles aching.

“Holy fuck!” He wheezed, doubling over and clutching onto his stomach.

She felt her arms cross.

“You should'a seen your face!” He yelled, still laughing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“ _Ha-ha,_ ” She mocked, rolling her eyes. He was joking, she should've known. There was no way a Prescott would hit on her, she wasn't _that_ unlucky.

Running a finger across his eyes, he turned to her, his face reddened from laughter. “I already said you're not my type, Max, calm down.”

“Well, I guess it's a good thing you're not mine, either.” Her words came out coated in salt. There was no way she meant to sound so goddamn bitter. She didn't care that she “wasn't his type”. She barely knew him.

Or at least, that's what she was telling herself.

“Ouch,” He laughed, his words drowning in sarcasm. “What's your type then, huh? Whiny dipshit hipsters with man-buns and fuckin' _juice cleanse blogs?_ ”

A scoff escaped Max's lips. “Who's bitter now?”

He brushed her off, stuttering to defend himself. “I'm not _bitter_ , I was just-- whatthefuckever.”

Now she was the one laughing. _Two could play that game._

“So, if it's not whiny dipshit hipsters, what is it? Don't just leave me fuckin' hanging like this, Max.”

He gestured to a woman about Max's height who had taken over the bar, bringing him a bottle of something German and expensive looking. Or at least as expensive-looking as a beer could get.

As she watched him break the top off his drink, she couldn't help but wonder how many he had consumed in the past... two hours? God, what time was it anyway? Her internal clock was telling her it was definitely later than eleven, maybe even twelve. Had she really managed to spend that long talking to _Nathan Prescott?_ It certainly didn't feel like it.

 _'You know what they say, kiddo, time flies when you're having fun.'_ She could practically hear William's voice saying those words to her as he told her goodbye, Max's pale eyes watching her own father just outside Chloe's front door.

The memory felt like being shot and she shoved it away as quickly as it appeared.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” She laughed. “But it's not 'whiny dipshit hipsters', if that makes a difference.”

“Liar,” He said, that devil grin of his back again.

“I am not lying,” She defended.

“Uh-huh, sure. Go on,” He said. “Whiny dipshit hipsters who do what?”

“ _People_ ,” She corrected, a smile pinching at her cheeks. “Who are artists. Photographers, painters, people who are, you know, _passionate_ about stuff.”

“You're not fuckin' asking for much, are you?” He laughed.

She nudged him, a smile on her face. “Shut up.”

Silence fell, and even though words were lost to them, the music playing overtaking any ideas about conversation, she felt at ease. There was something different about the silence. It wasn't an awkward break in conversation, it wasn't a lull she was dying to kill, it was, dare she say-- _fond?_

They were sat there just thinking. Thinking together.

And Max couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about.

Drugs and alcohol, probably, but she couldn't know that for sure. What were his hobbies? What did he like to do? They didn't know much about each other, because really, they weren't out to make friends, just to not be alone. The getting-to-know you questions never happened.

But she _wanted_ to know him, at least a little bit. There certainly wasn't anything to it, she quickly told herself, as she had so many times already, she was just... _interested._

“Tell me something about yourself.”

She turned. “What?” Max honestly wasn't expecting him to talk first.

“Jesus, are you fuckin' deaf?” He sighed. “Sorry. Right. _'Don't be an asshole.'_ I said, tell me something about yourself.”

She gave a small laugh. At least he was trying.

She never knew how to answer that question, how to summarize herself in a way that made her sound less like a hipster with a Polaroid fetish and more like an actually interesting person. Even as a kid, it was hard for her. Which would probably explain why she never had many friends outside of Chloe. Anytime someone asked to know more about her, she felt like they were asking for the meaning of life, and the only answer she could come up with was _'42.'_

“I'm really not that interesting,” That was her typical cop-out and, as much as she never wanted to admit it, she believed it. What about her was interesting? Nothing that she could think of.

“Like fuck you aren't,” He said, turning to her, sounding almost offended. “You're not rich, you're _definitely_ not here to join the Vortex Club, and from where I'm standing, you don't even look like you give a rat's ass about any of this anyway.”

“And that makes me interesting?”

“A little bit,” He said, putting his drink down. It was only half-empty. “How the fuck did you even get in here? I think I'd know if some pixie hipster was in my club.”

“'Pixie hipster', huh?” She quoted, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Seems pretty fitting, if you ask me,” He teased. “You're tiny as shit and you're a hipster. You're a pixie hipster.”

“Whatever you say, Nathan,” She rolled her eyes, fully smiling now. Her voice was peppered with laughter and she hated it. She hated _him_ , honestly. But not the kind of 'I want to scream at you and watch you die' hate, more like the 'you entertain me and I don't like it' hate.

The good kind of hate.

“My uh-- _friend_ , Dana, dragged me here,” She answered. Was Dana her friend? They really hadn't known each other for very long... “I guess she was just trying to make sure I didn't feel lonely or something.”

“A fan-fucking-tastic job she did with that,” He scoffed, eyes darting around the room. He couldn't see Dana anywhere, and honestly, the VIP section wasn't that big. “She's probably off going at it doggy style with that dumbass prick Robertson while you're shacked up here with _me._ ”

There was something off about the way he said 'me', as if being stuck with him was a bad thing, as if he hated even being stuck with himself.

But she pulled herself far from psychoanalyzing that, even internally, even as her nosy-ass begged to know why he thought of himself as such a burden.

“I didn't really think about that,” She mumbled, shoving away any visualizations of what Nathan had just told her. She knew she should've thought of that, thought of the possibility of Dana leaving her behind. Max wasn't willing to leave Dana alone at the party, but she had no way of knowing if Dana would return the favor.

Dana was different. She wouldn't have left, she couldn't have.

But even so, Max's heart sunk. Maybe she had been wrong about Dana's “capacity for kindness”, after all.

“Well, whatthefuckever,” Nathan announced, nudging at Max with his arm. It was gentle, playful, like he was trying to cheer her up. “You know, if you're jealous, we _could_ still get out of here...”

“Shut up!” She laughed out loud, nudging back. “I thought you said I wasn't your type, Prescott.”

“I could always--”

But he was interrupted.

Like an ugly creature rearing it's head in the night, a voice Max had forgotten she was trying to run from came hurtling at her, stabbing her in the chest and leaving no room to breathe.

“ _Well,_ what have we here?”

Tall, thin and _fucking beautiful,_ Victoria Chase towered above her, staring her down like she was nothing more than a speck of dirt on her favorite Louboutins, moments away from annihilation.

She wanted to melt, or hide, or both. Actually, she would've happily accepted death at that point. Anything to get her as far away from Victoria as physically possible.

"Jeez, gorgeous, what the fuck took you so long?"

Max's eyes bolted to Nathan and the desire to hide was quickly replaced with the need to run. He was _smiling_ at Victoria, genuinely smiling, his face brightened by her mere presence alone.

 _'Of course,'_ Max thought.

 _'Of._ Fucking. _Course.'_

There was no denying they knew each other then, there was no denying the echoing shatter Max heard in her own chestat the fact thatsomeone she was starting to look at as a friend was buddy-buddy with the one bitch in Arcadia Bay she would pay actual money to have run over.

It wasn't unlikely, hell, she even figured they knew each other, but that didn't change how she felt, and how she felt was _fucking shitty._

She should have never gotten so comfy, not with him, not with the goddamn _'King of Blackwell'._

"Mark," She began, Max's stomach twisting in sick knots. _Really?_ She was calling Mr. Jefferson _'Mark'_ now? How fucking desperate could she get?

"I mean, _Mr. Jefferson_ wanted to talk to me about the Everyday Heroes contest and my entry. I think he's going to choose me."

The haughty tone in her voice, the way she turned as she spoke, trying to look all doe-eyed and humble, she was obviously attempting to show off and, if Max was going to be honest, _it was hilarious._

She wanted to laugh, hell, she wanted to look Victoria in the eye and say “bitch, please” but she couldn't do that. She hadn't even turned in her photo yet, and the monster would no doubt want some sort of receipt that says 'Yes, I, Max Caulfield, am better than you and have every right to judge your sorry ass.'

Instead, she opted for silence. Complete and total silence, praying to whoever would listen that she would camouflage herself into the sofa.

"Anyway," Victoria said, her lips souring to a pout. "Who the hell let you in?"

_So much for the camouflage._

Fear wrapped it's cool arms around her again and her lungs caved. That was exactly what she was trying to avoid. But there was no going back. There was no rewinding time.

_But damn, would she have died for some superpowers then._

Pale eyes met the venomous green of Victoria's. She wasn't going to rat Dana out, not to Victoria, even if Dana had left her (a suggestion she was still having trouble processing), God knows what that would do. _But what did she say?_

No way in hell would Victoria buy that she just got in magically, and if she blamed Logan, he was too stupid to cover Dana's ass.

Anxiety stabbed at her sides, digging it's claws into her guts and cauterizing the wounds. Shit. She'd have to lie, and God knew she was the worst at that.

“Uh,” She began. _Great start, dumbass._

"I did."

Max looked at Nathan, shock written all over her expression. _What?_

"Ever since Rachel fucked off I figured we had a shitty hole to fill," He added, his words as natural as ever.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" Victoria screeched. "I told you we weren't inviting her in. She doesn't _belong_ in the Vortex Club!”

The way she carried 'belong' only made Max want to hit her with a car more. She didn't want to _belong_ in the Vortex Club.

But none of that was on her mind in that moment.

Her stomach was falling and she wasn't going to be able to catch it. Mere hours ago, Nathan acted like he had no idea who she was. Of course, he had also called her “Maxine”, despite the fact that she never told him that was her name.

“What?” She asked, her tone drowned in disbelief. Her head turned to Nathan, who didn't even regard her. It was like she wasn't even there.

She should've known. _She should've fucking known_.

He knew Victoria, and closely, by the looks of it. There was no way that anyone who regularly hung out with Victoria _didn't_ know she hated Max's guts, if not the very air she breathed. She should've seen this coming from a mile away, should've braced herself for impact, but instead, she got lost in the outrageous attitude and playful insults, all wrapped inside a warm package.

_She was a goddamn idiot._

"Oh, fuck off, Vic," Nathan droned, his head falling back in boredom. "I _like_ her. What's your fuckin' issue?"

Victoria's pixie face screwed with confusion. Max was half-expecting steam to start billowing out of her ears.

“What's _my_ fucking issue?!” Her voice was a rabid squeal, rising far above the music and causing every eye in the room to dart their way. _Great._

“My fucking issue, Nathan,” Victoria continued, her hands gesturing wildly. “Is that you have been so off ever since Rachel disappeared. And now you're trying to replace her with this retro bullshitter? No way.”

“You're just mad 'cause you want me all to yourself!” His voice got louder, and higher, much higher. “That's why you hated Rachel, isn't it?!”

There was that dreaded name again. Black and white posters of a face well-missed came and went in her mind, falling out of sight as the fight in front of her took up all of her time.

Groups of people had gathered around them, watching like their little disagreement was some sort of reality show spectacle.

_Oh, no._

“Can you two not--” But her words were drowned out almost as soon as they were said.

“Are you kidding me right now? I don't care about Rachel! I'm worried about _you,_ Nathan!” Victoria replied, and for once, Max saw something different in her. Something... genuine. “First, all those weird-ass bruises and now this? What is going on with you?”

_Bruises?_

Sure, word got around that Nathan was prone to a fight or _twelve_ every now and then, but he wasn't usually the one with the marks. _What happened?_

Her eyes glanced over him, that nosiness taking over once again. She couldn't see anything, which meant they had to be under his clothes, which also meant that the only way Victoria could've seen them was if...

_No._

No, they weren't _that_ close. There was no way.

That falling feeling came back, except someone had placed two tons of solid metal on top of it, weighing it down until it hit the floor with an earth-shattering crash.

Neither of them seemed to care that everyone was staring, acting as if there was no one outside of their little two-man bubble. Max wondered how often this happened, how many times they had blown out confrontations in front of the entirety of the Vortex Club.

Maybe this was common place for them, maybe this was something they didn't care too much about, but for Max, who had only been at Blackwell for barely a week, she cared, maybe a little too much. Firstly, being the center of attention was a nightmare for her, especially when it was unwanted attention. And that, that was definitely unwanted.

Secondly, as soon as word got out, it was going to be all over the place that the King and Queen of Blackwell had a domestic over the new girl. It was bad enough she had Victoria on her ass constantly, she didn't need the whole school, too.

She tried her voice again, a whisper-yell much too similar to the one she used with Chloe all those years ago, afraid of Joyce's stern eyes falling upon both of them. “People are staring.”

“You know what,” He said, standing. “Fuck this. C'mon.” His head gestured to the door.

“Oh , so you're just gonna leave now, is that it? Un-fucking-believable.”

Max looked to Nathan, then Victoria, and back again. The crowd was still watching, and every moment she held still, the better the rumor mill ran.

She crossed her arms. She wanted to run, hide from every goddamn prying eye in the room, but she couldn't. Not until she knew what the fuck was going on.

“I'm not going anywhere with you until you give me some answers, Nathan,” She said, standing up to meet his eyes.

_You're only making things worse, Max._

She locked the thought away.

“We can talk about this later, alright? Let's just go,” Her eyes may have been locked on his, but he wasn't facing her, not even in the slightest. Instead, his eyes were dancing about the room, looking at every judging face nearby.

She wasn't the only one with anxiety over the crowd, after all.

"I'm not gonna stand here all fuckin' night, Max." He said, carrying her name like a warning. Was he gritting his teeth?

Max adjusted her weight, her eyes catching those of the people in the crowd. She couldn't help but imagine them like movie cameras, recording every little word and getting ready to play a distorted version back at her.

She let out a sigh, and almost as quickly as she did so, he grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the doors. She quickly wriggled free, but it wasn't hard, he wasn't pulling much, actually, he was barely even holding onto her. He didn't even seem to notice she had let go.

As the two left the pool room, Max turned, looking at Victoria once more. Her head was in her palm, but she was yelling. The crowd that had gathered to watch the two have a fight quickly dissipated, breaking into smaller groups and chatting amongst themselves. Her paranoia whispered her name back to her out of every student's mouth. They were all talking about her. Each and every one of them.

She could feel it.

Nathan opened the last two doors with a thud, letting them slam behind Max as they reached the parking lot, his foot going straight for the tire of a car she immediately recognized as Jefferson's.

He kicked it. Again, and again, and again.

Max just watched. There was no trying to talk him down, she didn't know how that would play out. As much as she wanted to save her teacher's car from the abuse, it was just the tire... for now.

Maybe staying out of it was a bad idea, after all.

His shoulders heaved, his breath heavy as he clearly tried to calm himself down.

It wasn't working.

Her hand stretched in his direction. She didn't know what she was reaching for. His shoulder, his sanity, anything they could both latch onto so he'd stop harming an innocent man's car.

She was still feeling betrayed, even though every cell in her body told her she should've known this would happen, that in some way, she did, but she wasn't just going to stand by. He had to calm down before they could talk, before he could explain what she had pretty much already figured out.

“Nathan...” Her hand felt the soft material of his jacket but it was quickly torn away, shock running through her veins.

That was a big mistake.

“Yes, okay!” He yelled, his back to her. “I knew who the fuck you were and I fucking knew Victoria hates you! There's your answers!”

She just stared at him. He was confessing, but there was more she wanted.

Finding her voice, she began, “Then why were you so desperate to hang out with me if you knew Victoria would be pissed?”

He was quiet, and that honestly scared her.

“I don't fuckin' know, alright? I just...” He paused. “I didn't want to be alone or some bullshit like that. You seemed interesting, I guess.”

“Don't you have other friends?” She asked, the silence that followed just as scary as the first. He was supposed to be “popular”, right?

“Would it surprise you if I said I didn't?”

Maybe it was the way his tone sounded genuinely sad, maybe it was the way his shoulders sank as he spoke, maybe it was the way a bit of his red shell flaked away with the weight of it all, but either way, his words practically stabbed her.

_She couldn't see how anybody liked him._

That thought just chose the perfect time to come back and bite her on the ass.

It made sense, really. The way he practically clung to her like she was the only person at the party, the way he wasn't willing to let her wander off. With Victoria gone kissing ass, he was alone, drinking at the bar by himself, until she came along and stood up to him.

_She was interesting._

She supposed Dana had done a similar thing, disappearing into the night to go cozy up to Logan, talk to her other far more popular Vortex Club friends.

_They were in the same boat._

“I'm sorry,” He finally said, his tone softer than she'd ever heard it. He really meant it. “For-for everything. I should've just left you alone.”

Max was silent. Even after all that had happened, even after Victoria, she was glad he didn't. She was glad she had met him, that he had changed her night for better or for worse. And, honestly, she wasn't quite ready to let go of that yet.

“Why did you say you let me in?”

“So she'd yell at me and not you, why else, dumbass?” His words were light, a chuckle hidden in them. “Besides, she hates the shit out of Dana. She'd go after her, too, if I didn't step in.”

“Thank you,” She said. “Really.”

“Don't mention it,” He said. “Really, don't. If Victoria finds out, I'm not sure who she'll skin first, me or you.”

Max laughed, but the sound was heavy in her chest. _This is goodbye, isn't it?_

“I'm sure you don't wanna stick around so just... just go. You can't be so fucking oblivious that you don't know your way home from here.”

“Nathan,” She said, all other words failing her.

He sighed, still not looking at her, and took off towards a red truck.

“Wait!” She yelled again, following him. She hated it, she hated every piece of it, but she didn't want him to go. Her better judgement told her she should, told her that she better just leave this alone, that this was how this night was supposed to end, but that wasn't what she wanted to happen, and she was tired of living a life of “what ifs”.

What if William never died?

What if she hadn't left Arcadia Bay?

What if she actually had the guts to go see Chloe?

_What if she let Nathan Prescott go?_

That wasn't going to make it onto the list. No, their night wasn't over, not yet.

He got closer to his escape, reaching into his pockets for his keys as he walked, hunched and angry.

“Nathan, stop!”

And he did. He _actually_ did.

“What the fuck do you want, Caulfield?”

He wasn't looking at her, his vermilion jacket still the only thing meeting her eyes. His fists were tightly clenched, and there was something falling from the left.

_Blood?_

“I want you to not leave.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT A NEW CHAPTER AT MIDNIGHT WOW WHAT GREAT TIMING.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was actually very hard for me to write as I kept rewriting it and rewriting it, trying to make the dialogue flow as naturally as possible while still pushing the plot along, and introducing other things to be explored later. I hope you all enjoyed it! Please leave a kudo and a comment if you did, I love reading what you guys have to say!  
> Also, I would like to mention that this takes place roughly around a week before the events of the game, even though it's canon divergent/an AU. If I remember correctly, in the game, when Max leaves the bathroom and is caught by David Madsen and Principle Wells, he says that she's "only been at Blackwell for two weeks and is already causing trouble". I'm not entirely sure when the Everyday Heroes contest started, but I'm going with a week or so prior. Please let me know if there's anything in canon to indicate otherwise!
> 
> anyway for the sake of being a meme loving fuck, dicks out for jefferson's tire (and lmao at max calling him an innocent man like hon if only u knew)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There is a brief mention of scars from self-harm, as well as bruises that could be associated with assault.  
> 

Those six words came tumbling out like a car in an accident, heading straight for the ditch. She hadn't expected there to be a weight with them, a seventy-pound dumbbell she couldn't lift. The threads of fate were changing, shifting with every choice she made, and she could feel it.

Her mind said no, let him go. Let him disappear into the night, fading from her memory with every step taken, every mile gone. It was the right thing to do, it was the smart thing to do, it was the one decision that would leave her unscathed.

But her heart fiercely disagreed. It's rapid drumming told her she had no reason to fear, no reason to let fate scare her. It was a mean old thing, anyway, no longer capable of understanding the humanity it dictated. There were no ugly consequences for stopping him, nothing to keep her from changing the way things unfolded for _once_ in her life. It was a choice she would not regret. It was a choice she had to make.

Besides, he was drunk, and there was no way she was just letting him drive off like that.

She felt his eyes on her, finally face-to-face. There was that intensity again, the one that made blue hues turn red. It was intriguing and frightening all at the same time, something she still couldn't quite get used to. He was on fire but underwater, alive but vacant, a mystery in every way.

His fists clenched and undid themselves again and again, the nails coming back a little redder than before.

Suddenly, she wished he was kicking Jefferson's car instead.

“Why?”

Max's brow furrowed. “What?”

She should've been expecting for him to question her; Nathan never left a stone unturned, after all.

“You heard me,” He replied. “Why the fuck are you trying to make me stick around? I've done nothing but treat you like shit, Max, just fuck off already.”

“That's not true, Nathan,” She protested.

“Isn't it, though?” He quickly said. “You've been waiting for an excuse to leave all goddamn night. There it is! Now fucking take it.”

Then he turned around, grumbling something to himself. He was slipping away like water through her fingers, and she didn't know if she could catch the drips.

_But like hell was she not going to try._

Her feet carried themselves to his back and she reached out, quickly catching his wrist. Her body felt off, like the ground below her was shifting, warning her that what she was doing could get her hurt. He still seemed like a wild animal, unpredictable and fierce.

She might as well be sticking her fingers in a dark cage.

“Nathan, wait!” She tugged on his wrist and he stopped, jerking around with fury on his face. But he didn't hit her, he didn't even pull away.

“Let go of me, Max,” He growled, words filtered through gritted teeth.

_“No.”_

She couldn't help but notice how close they were now, his chest mere inches from hers. Max forced herself to look up at him, eyes cold as marble.

He scoffed. “You think you're _so_ tough, don't you?”

“I'm not afraid of you, Nathan,” She said. And it was the truth, wasn't it? “Please don't go.”

“How many times do I have to _fucking_ tell you--”

He cut himself off.

Max watched as his eyes darted towards something behind her, wide and... scared?

Attempting to follow his gaze, she turned, but all she saw was the artificial light coming from the art room window just as it shut off.

_What was he looking at?_

A thick swallow met her ears, followed by a deep, shaky sigh.

“If you were _anybody_ else, Caulfield...” His voice was just as shaky as the sigh.

She turned back to him, surprised. What had scared him so much? What could he have seen in that window that would make his skin become ice, his face bleed all of it's color?

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” He said. “I fucking _give in._ Happy now?”

Relief washed over her like a warm shower, _thank God,_  but it quickly chilled as she realized he wasn't looking at her. He was still looking at the window, as if he'd seen a ghost or, worse yet, _a monster._

“A little,” She admitted, breathy. “Nathan, are you... okay?”

He rolled his eyes, finally shifting them back to her.

“Let's just get the fuck out of here, alright?” That joking tone had lost itself somewhere in the wind.

“Why? Are you gonna try to lure me into your dorm room again?” She teased, a brow cocked. If she could just bring back the mood from their sofa chat, that simple harmony...

He laughed, a sound Max was all too happy to hear, even if his voice still seemed wobbly. _“You wish.”_

Then it was her turn to roll her eyes.

"I can't drive if you're still holding onto me, Max," He said suddenly and heat raced to her cheeks at 300 miles per hour.

_She was still holding his wrist._

Her words tripped over each other as they desperately tried to find their way out, "Oh, uh, _shit._ I mean, sorry."

"Forget it, Caulfield," He laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he searched for his keys. Those hands were still shaking.

“Uh,” Max began. Nathan was drunk, even if he didn't seem that way. How could he not be? He was downing drinks left and right, Max was honestly surprised he was even still conscious.

“We should probably walk.”

“I am not gonna walk like, six fucking miles from here, are you insane?”

 _They were going that far?_ She struggled for words, for an excuse, anything that would keep him from driving that truck into a ditch with the two of them in it.

“Can I drive?” She all but shouted. “You can tell me where we're going and that way--”

“You think I'm fucking drunk, don't you?” He laughed.

She didn't answer.

“I'm _fine,_ Max, calm down.”

That phrase seemed awful rich coming from him.

She sighed.

“What? Jesus, do you want me to like, walk in a straight line or some shit?”

Max stared him down. If it was possible to fake it through a sobriety test, he was probably the one person who could do it.

He let out a deep sigh before tossing her the keys, her thin fingers just barely catching them. She was surprised, honestly. She hadn't been expecting him to give in that easily, then again, she hadn't been expecting him to do a lot of things.

Her mind hadn't exactly wrapped itself around just how unpredictable Nathan Prescott really was.

She glanced down at them in her hands. There was a set of three; the first was for the truck, the second had to be a house key, and the third was small and shiny, like the kind you get with an industrial padlock.

_Weird._

Just behind the little key was a pewter humpback whale, incredibly detailed for being only about three inches long.

The creature was familiar, looking like the ones a person could sometimes see just off the coast. The sudden image sent a burst of wind through her hair and mushed sand between her toes. She was back at the beach, watching as a whale's tail raised high above the water and splashed down. But she wasn't alone, Chloe was there, and so was William.

They used to go looking for whales together, back when things were just pirate costumes and popsicle sticks. Back before things were hard. She could remember running around the lighthouse, stopping only when William shouted for whales.

And then that feeling, the one where she could've swore someone wrapped their icy fingers around her heart and started pulling, came back.

She shoved the memory down, even as it attempted to claw it's way back up.

“Cute key chain,” She said, the sadness in her voice far more evident than she wanted.

“Just get in the truck, Max,” He said as he hopped into the passenger's seat. She quickly followed, walking around the front and taking her seat at the wheel.

“So, uh,” She began, starting the truck. “Where to?”

No answer.

She glanced over at him.

“Nathan?” She asked, her tone worried.

He quickly snapped back to reality. “Fuck--sorry. Uh, the Eastern outskirts, just off of seventy-five. You know, over by all those old fucked up houses.”

“What's over there?” She asked. Max honestly couldn't think of much. Decades ago, long before she or him were even an _idea_ , there had been some attempts at developing the area, but most of it had grown over since then. All that was left were just some rotten houses and construction sites.

“You'll see,” He said. “Just drive.”

Max did as she was told, pulling out of the parking lot and going towards the outskirts of town. Arcadia wasn't a huge town, it really didn't take much to get from one end of it to the next, but she'd never gone that way. She didn't really have a reason to. The roads there led to nowhere special and, unless a person was really into creepy forests and farm houses, there wasn't much to see either. Her curiosity about what could possibly be there only grew with every mile traveled.

However, she did not speak her questions. Silence was practically a passenger as Nathan glared out the window, avoiding her eyes.

_Even weirder._

“So, uh,” She began, trying to start conversation, sick of the silence. Previously, she had enjoyed his quiet, but that moment on the couch seemed like a hundred years ago. “How do you and Victoria know each other?”

She heard a scoff, but he didn't look at her. “How do you think?”

“I—I just meant...” He was clearly still in a poor mood.

Nathan sat up. “We're not... we're not _dating_ or whatever, if that's what you mean.”

“Oh,” She said. _At least he has better taste than Victoria._  “Are you... are you friends?”

Silence. That was a dumb question and she knew it.

She glanced over at him, prying her eyes away from the eerie road before her. He had picked something up from the floor, black and rectangular.

It was a camera, and a damn nice one, at that.

He spoke before she could, but his tone wasn't vicious. “I guess you could say that.”

 

Max tried to continue the conversation, even though she knew it was going nowhere fast. “Uh... how long have you and Victoria known each other?”

“Since like, fucking _birth_ ,” He replied, still clutching the camera in his hands, just fumbling with it. “Our parents aren't exactly friends but, you know, _endogamy_ and all that bullshit.”

Max's brows furrowed. “End-o- _what?_ ”

He chuckled. “You never took sociology, did you?”

“If there's an 'ology' in it, definitely not,” Max laughed. She had tried psychology back in Seattle, but it didn't go very well. It came as a surprise that Nathan would actually be into that.

Then again, as she thought it over, he seemed like the kind of person who liked knowing how people work.

“Endogamy is like-- it's like fuckin' social class incest,” He said, and Max failed to stifle a snort. “Basically, the rich marry the rich and the poor marry the poor, keeping the bloodline _'pure'_ or whateverthefuck. Second cousins usually get involved. It's weird.”

“So, they were hoping you and Victoria would... like each other?”

“You sure ask a fuckton of questions, Crackfield,” He smiled, small knots in Max's stomach easing at the sight. At least he wasn't spacing out anymore.  _At least they were talking._

“Bad habit, I guess.”

“Whatever,” He said. “And yeah. They were hoping me and Victoria would fuck each other so they could have their perfect little pure-bred heir to go and fuck up like they fucked up the rest of us.”

“The rest of us?” Max asked, but as soon as the words traversed the air she wished she could take them back. The pressure in the air changed, like she had stepped near some sort of mine she couldn't walk around.

The pleasantries of the smile moments before seemed like a distant memory.

“My sister, she...” He paused. “It doesn't matter. My whole family's fucked up and that's all there is to it.”

“I-I'm sorry,” She said, and she meant it, even though it came out shaky and timid, like it was just a default response she couldn't deliver properly.

“Why? Not like it's your fault.”

“I guess I just-- I wish things were better for you, Nathan.”

He looked her way, a sad expression hiding in the shadows of his face. He then turned his attention back to the camera, slouching in his chair. It was only then that she noticed he wasn't even wearing his seat belt.

“You and me both, Max.”

The way his tone sunk only took her heart with it. She had no way of knowing what things were really like for him at home, no way of relating, but that didn't matter. The pain in his voice was enough to drag her deep down with him.

Suddenly, he opened the camera, beginning to flip through the pictures. It's white light caught on his sharp features, illuminating his side of the cab.

“Y'know,” He said, breaking the silence as he looked at an image, the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. “Victoria's a fucking bitch but... when you get to know her, she can be a little nicer.”

Max laughed. “Like you?”

He grinned at her, “Fuck no. I'm _always_ terrible.”

Another chuckle, another smile, and she was back looking at the road. It was still so dark out and, somewhere along the way, they had entered a thick patch of fog, turning the trees around her to a murky shroud of gray clouds and black shapes.

Suddenly, Nathan reached towards her, pointing to a hidden country road to her right. “Turn there.”

The whiff of cologne, the sudden heat. He was close, a little too close, his head nearly on her shoulder.

And then he was gone, situated back in the seat. Her chest was pounding like a drum in her ears.

_God, she was a mess._

Turning on the road, she watched out of the corner of her eye as he slipped the camera into a bag and out of sight.

“Just keep driving,” He said. “You'll know when you're there.”

Nodding, Max watched as the trees grew closer to the dirt road, clawing at the top of the truck as she drove further and further.

“Uh, so, where are we going, again?” She asked, the worry catching hold in her throat as she surveyed the space around them. The eerie fog and full moon weren't helping any.

“ _Jesus,_ you'll find out. It's a surprise. It'll be cool, I promise.”

She glanced at him again. He didn't sound like he was lying, at least, she didn't think he did.

_But what did Nathan Prescott find 'cool'?_

“Look,” He quickly added. “If you don't dig it, I can take you home, or you can take yourself home, whateverthefuck works for you. This is just... where I go to chill out.”

Max sighed, “Okay...”

The roads got rougher and rougher but, as she looked closer, there were hints of pavement underneath. Old pavement, eroded by the weather, but pavement nonetheless.

“Stop!” Nathan practically shouted as the headlights flashed on something tall and metallic.

“An electric fence?” Max said, looking at him.

“It's what's _behind_ the fence. Now get out,” And with that teasing remark, he pushed the door open and let it slam behind him, Max following suit.

That worry hadn't left Max at all, especially as they got closer and she noticed a large hole in the fence they were no doubt about to crawl through.

“Uh, that—that's not on, right?”

He gave her a look that couldn't possibly be described as anything other than sarcasm in it's purest physical form. Pressing his bare hand to the chain-link next to him, he looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I don't know, Max, _is it?_ ”

“Don't be an asshole,” She replied, crossing her arms.

He laughed. “Stop making it so hard not to be.”

Shifting her weight, she rolled her eyes. “I hate you so much,” She joked, a smirk present on her face.

"Whatever," He said before ducking under the hole and sliding through, patting his pockets as he stood.

“Fuck!”

She jumped. “What?!”

“I forgot the goddamn flashlight! You still have the keys, right?”

She reached into her jacket pocket. She did. “Yeah.”

“Well, go get it or we're not gonna be able to see fuck-all out here. _Please._ ”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” She teased, turning back to the truck.

She heard him laugh in the distance.

Crawling back into the pickup, she looked around. There wasn't a flashlight anywhere.

She thought to ask, but knew how stupid that would look. _Where would a person usually keep a flashlight?_

Glancing around the cab a little more, she caught sight of the glove box and quickly tugged on it's handle.

 _Of course._ It was stuck.

She tugged again, and again, and again, muttering words to herself as she desperately attempted to free it. And then--

“ _Shit!”_ She whispered as an explosion of stuff came hurtling out. Great, she just had to go and make a mess of his truck, didn't she?

She looked down. He wouldn't keep something weird in such an easily accessible place, would he? What was she so afraid of? It was a goddamn glove box, not his underwear drawer.

She quickly glanced down at the mess she had made. Most of it seemed like random trash he had been too lazy to properly throw away, a wrapper here, a cup lid there. _'Gross.'_

A sigh escaping her, she reached down at the mess and tried her best to simply scoop it up and put it back. However, just as she did so, two glossy items caught her eye.

Pictures. Two printed pictures.

Her nosiness at it's best, she instinctively reached for them. She had seen him messing around with the camera earlier, but she didn't think he'd actually keep some of his own photos with him.

 _'They must be important,'_ Max thought as she lifted the first one into the vague light, their possible personal importance doing nothing to stop her.

She recognized the face in the first one almost instantly. She had seen it sneer at her, laugh at her, tease her. The pixie-like features and blonde hair were a look she knew she'd never forget, seared into her mind like a goddamn scar.

Victoria Fucking Chase. Of course.

Why wouldn't he have a picture of her, his – from what she could tell – closest friend?

She looked as lovely as ever in the image, sitting in the park, reading a French novel, seeming almost soulful in monochrome.

The thought made Max laugh. Victoria, soulful. _Yeah, right._

She pushed it aside, revealing another black and white image, though this one held a stark difference in tone to the first. It was nearly black, the sky cloudy and the subject cloaked in shadows. It was a woman walking in an old cemetery, her profile only somewhat visible.

Even so, Max knew it. She had seen it plastered over almost every surface in Blackwell, after all.

It was Rachel Amber, but she didn't look the way she did in her missing persons picture. She wasn't smiling, she wasn't happy, she was sad. She was mourning.

Did Rachel know she was being photographed? It wasn't taken as intimately, as openly, as the one of Victoria. It looked candid, almost like she didn't even know she was being photographed.

“Yo! What the fuck is taking you so long?!”

She jumped, dropping the picture. _Shit._

Moving the images and the rest of the trash out of her way, she reached into glove box, feeling something metallic and cold against her skin.

_Finally, the flashlight._

Grabbing at it, she pulled it out of the glove box, quickly shoving all the trash back in, but the picture of Rachel was still present in her mind. Something about it felt wrong, like he wasn't supposed to be taking it, like he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Stepping out of the truck, she didn't meet his eyes as she crawled under the fence and handed him the flashlight on the other side.

Her mind was practically jumping through mental hoops trying to piece it all together. Dana mentioned Nathan had been off since Rachel disappeared. Victoria said the same thing, even going so far as to say he was looking to _replace_ her. What was their relationship? Were they really so close that he was driving around with her picture?

Max's mind itched to ask, but that would mean admitting she went through his stuff, and she had it on pretty decent authority that he wouldn't take that well.

“Did you get lost or something?” He asked. “Max. Yo. What the fuck?”

She didn't even notice she was spacing out until she heard the sharp snaps of his fingers next to her.

“Sorry,” She quickly blurted. “I was just too busy thinking, I guess.”

“Whatever. Let's just get out of here before something fucking eats us.”

“Like what?” Max asked, eyes wide. Great. Spooky forest and potential monsters in the woods. That was exactly how she wanted to spend her Friday night.

“I don't know, Mothman? C'mon,” And with that, he began walking forward.

Max scoffed, following closely behind. “Okay, firstly, Mothman doesn't eat people, he just causes weird shit to happen. And secondly, we're nowhere near West Virginia, smart guy.”

She could hear the cheeky grin in his voice as he spoke. “Damn, a bitch who knows her Cryptids. Hot.”

“Actually shut up,” She laughed, catching up to walk beside him. “And don't call me a bitch."  
He snorted. “Okay, _Maxine._ ”

“That's not much better.”

A long sigh escaped his lips, though that playful smirk was still at his cheeks. “Fine. Max. Whatever.”

“There you go.”

As they continued down the path, he switched on the flashlight, it's light bouncing off the fog that surrounded them.

The pavement she had seen before was becoming more visible, their shoes clicking against it as they walked.

A shiver ran her through, her hands instinctively reaching to her arms. It was freezing out, but, as she glanced over at Nathan, who looked entirely unfazed, she realized she was the only one who noticed.

“Aren't you cold?” She asked, looking over at him again. She hadn't really seen him walk much earlier but, as she stood by him, she couldn't help but notice the strange swagger he had. It was almost forced, like he was trying to look tough but couldn't quite get a grasp on it.

“No. Are you?” He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes.

“A little, yeah,” She said, rubbing her hands on her arms. It didn't do much to help. Max almost thought about scooting closer to him, considering how warm he had been in their prior encounters.

But that would be weird, as if the night's events hadn't already been weird enough.

“Jesus, _here,_ ” He drawled, stopping dead in his tracks and moving the flashlight over to his other hand.

“What are you--”

Warmth surrounded her shoulders as he gently draped his jacket over her, that familiar scent overwhelming her senses. His jacket was as warm as he had been, and incredibly soft. No wonder he wore it every day.

She couldn't help it as fiery blood fled to her cheeks, her mind running wild. She was wearing his jacket. He had given her his jacket. _Oh, God..._

It was one of those things she'd ever only seen in the movies, usually before two characters would have some loving heart-to-heart, she never thought she'd actually have a guy give her his jacket.

And she certainly never thought it'd be Nathan Prescott who did it.

Her eyes drifted over him, now suddenly seeming much less guarded without his red armor. He wasn't exactly buff, no, he looked much different in a tight t-shirt than say, Logan or Zachary, but he wasn't a total bean pole. There was definition to his chest and stomach, places she couldn't help but stare.

And then she saw his arms.

Just like the rest of him, they were defined but small. However, as her eyes wavered down to his wrists, the bouncing light caught on a vicious zigzag of scars going in all directions, on both arms. They were old, healed over long ago, but there were other wounds, ones that looked like nails digging into skin, surrounded by an ugly purple-green bruise.

_So that's what Victoria was talking about._

Only there was more. Just as she went to look at his neck, she noticed another wrapped around the nape, looking like fingers holding someone down.

_What the hell happened to him?_

“What?” He said, noticing her stare on him.

“Nathan, what happened to you?” The question fell out before she could stop it. There she goes, fucking prying again.

His brows raised so high, they nearly hit the stray curl across his forehead, shooting back down in anger as soon as he realized where she was staring.

“Fuck,” He said, wrapping a hand around where another's had been. “Victoria said she fucking covered them!”

Max took a step forward, “Those are _hand prints,_ Nathan. Did someone hurt you?”

He took a step back, putting distance between them again. _Good job, Max, now he's pulling away again._

His hands were up, making sure she didn't come any closer. “Jesus! Yes, alright! But I'm fucking _fine._ Besides, you should'a seen the other guy.”

She wasn't going to let him make light it.

“Nathan...” She reached again, and that only made him back away more.

“C'mon,” He said, walking away. “We're almost there.”

“Those are _ugly_ bruises, Nathan, are you sure--”

“Yes, I'm fucking sure. Just let it go.”

She sighed. If he would just _talk_ to her, let her know what was going on, maybe she could...

Max inwardly laughed. She sounded like Victoria, and suddenly, the other girl's struggles were very understandable.

But, unlike Victoria, Max didn't have an incredibly long history with Nathan. She barely knew him, and she could barely help _herself_ with most things. What kind of solace could she offer him?

She caught up but said nothing. As if he would've answered her, anyway. Clearly, he was done with honesty hour and now it was time for _closed-off-o'clock._

They passed a clearing in the woods, opening out to what looked like a forgotten parking lot. Just as she turned her head back to the road, she could've swore she saw a doe staring at her, but when she looked back, it was gone.

“Sorry.”

The word sent a jolt through her spine. “For... what?”

“I don't know, being an ass? God, I'm just... I'm not used to people giving a shit, okay? I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. It was shitty.”

“Yeah, it was but...” She paused. “Victoria seems to care.”

He laughed. “When it's convenient.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she only gives a shit when it suits her personal agenda,” He replied, flames licking at his voice. “Just like everybody else. They all want _something_ from me, I just don't know what the fuck that is.”

“I don't want something from you, Nathan,” Max said. “It's not everyone.”

He almost laughed, as if she had said a joke. But he stopped himself.

The look he gave her was strange, like he was searching for a crack in something supposedly flawless, determined to find any kind of lie he could tear apart.

Except he wasn't finding one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FINALLY BACK. I'm so happy to present to you all the third chapter of this fic! As per usual. I could not stop rewriting this one. I was having a really hard time with the voices, but I hope I did the characters justice in the eyes of you all.  
> Thanks so much for reading and I hope you'll stick around for the next one!


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